Page 52 of Nobody in Particular

“Delete it,” I say automatically.

She holds up her free hand and drops the phone into her lap. “Hold on. I will if you want me to—”

“I do.”

“But I had a thought while you were playing. Maybe you could put it online? Or Molly could, or something. You have to get used to playing in front of people, right? Could this be an intermediary?”

Put up a video of me baring my soul for strangers to judge and critique? Is she serious right now? I open my mouth to say no, absolutely not, but then I catch myself.

Rose notices my hesitation, and places a gentle hand on my knee. “If you never take the first step toward where you want to be, you’ll stay right where you are,” she says. “You can’t teleport yourself to your destination.”

I’ve never thought about it that way. But maybe Rose has a point. I’ve been so preoccupied by where I want to be one day—an orchestra member in my realistic dreams, and a soloist in my wildest—and how far away from those dreams I am, that I’ve let myself get totally overwhelmed. But I don’t have to become that person yet. The only thing I have to do right this second is a single step.

I can take a step, can’t I? It’s a terrifying one, and the thought of it makes me want to bury myself under my bedcovers and never come out, but it’s not impossible. And, yeah, maybe people will make fun of me in the comments, or in a private chat. But maybe they won’t. Maybe Maddison and her friends were a blip. Maybe it’s time I find out for sure. After all, so far, the Bramppath girls don’t seem to hate my guts. Even if they do kind of hate my clothes.

I’d have to review the video first, obviously, to make sure it sounds as good on camera as I thought it did in real life. But at least this would be controlled. I wouldn’t have to worry about messing up the notes, or panicking, because I’ve already played it.

“Can you send it to me?” I ask finally, and she does.

It’sreallylate by the time I gather all my stuff and we leave theballroom. Late enough that we should be calling it a night. In the courtyard, we pass Harriet doing her rounds—every RA is responsible for clearing out and locking up one area of the school each night, and she told me once hers is the library. Even the hallway is empty, which means everyone’s done brushing their teeth and using the bathroom.

But when I go to tell Rose I’ll see her tomorrow, she looks so disappointed, I swallow my words. Besides, it’s not like I’m in a rush to say goodbye. So, looking as innocent as we can, we head upstairs to her room together.I’ll say I lent her my laptop charger if anyone asks why I’m up here,I decide. But I don’t have to use the excuse, because we don’t run into a soul.

“We’ll have to be quick,” I go to tell Rose, but she kisses the words away. I think she’s been waiting for this the whole time we were in the ballroom. We hit her bed and fall backward together, still kissing.

“I can’t stay long,” I say around the kisses. God, I wish I didn’t need sleep. What a waste, to lie there unconscious all night, day in and day out, eating into perfectly good make-out time.

“Mmm.”

“We’ll get in so much trouble if we’re caught.”God,I wish there wasn’t a curfew.

“Shut up, then, and we won’t get caught,” she says, her eyes glinting with amusement.

I open my mouth, and she kisses the words away until I forget what I was going to say to begin with.

By the time I leave Rose’s room, it’s not “a little past curfew” late. It’s “immediate detention” late. It’s “get your ass handed to you by the headmaster the next morning if you’re caught” late. And I should care, I really, really should. But I just don’t.

I pull her door closed as gently as I can and slip down the hall and to the stairs, taking them slow and steady to avoid creaking.

So, of course, I manage to run right into Harriet as I reach the bottom of the staircase.

I freeze, wincing, and brace myself for whatever she’s got to say. She might be my friend, but she’s tough on curfew. I’ve overheardher doling out detentions through the walls more than a couple of times.

“And what time do you call this?” she asks, looking me up and down, and sounding… amused? Amused is a good start. Much better than pissed off.

“I accidentally fell asleep watching a movie with someone,” I lie in my best pleading tone.

“So you weren’t gallivanting?”

“I promise, zero gallivanting on my end. And it won’t happen again,” I add.

Harriet rolls her eyes fondly. “Hurry up and get in your room before someone sees us,” she says, and I clasp my hands together to thank her. “Hey, Danni,” she says, just as I turn to go. “I heard you playing tonight, when I was heading out to my rounds. I haven’t heard you play that song before. It was beautiful.”

I touch the back of my neck self-consciously. “Oh. Thank you.”

Maybe Iwillget Molly to put that video up. If two people think it was that good, then I should probably believe them.

Still, I’m nervous. Nervous enough that it takes me hours to fall asleep that night. The memories of being mocked—and the urge not to give people any possible ammunition to use against me—have been stirred up enough that it feels like a present threat instead of just a really shitty thing I went through over a year ago now.

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